


(i just) died in your arms tonight

by itsfrickenbats



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Canon, Character Death, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Reddie, Richie Tozier-centric, dead Eddie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 00:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21437092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsfrickenbats/pseuds/itsfrickenbats
Summary: It was always Richie and Eddie. Always. After 27 years, they figured that they had that back. Richie figured that he had the love of his life back. Richie figured that he could’ve made the cynical, paranoid man fall in love with him, just as he had for him. But that was all gone because of that fucking clown.It was always Richie and Eddie, but now one party is missing.And the other has no fucking clue what to do.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	(i just) died in your arms tonight

“Richie, honey, he’s dead,” Bev spoke through tears. “Come on, sweetie, we have to go-” a large boulder fell next to her and Bill was heard letting out a sob. “Richie, come on, please,” she begged. Ben grabbed Richie’s shoulders carefully and Richie flinched, gripping onto Eddie’s limp body tighter. “He’s gone, Ri-”

“We can help him, Bev, he isn’t dead,” Richie insisted, starting to get up with Eddie’s body still clasped between his chest and his arms. “He’s just hurt! I promise, see, look, he even has a…” fingers pressed to the side of Eddie’s neck - that same spot that he used to tickle when they were kids, forcing the shorter boy to admit that the Trashmouth was indeed right - his breath came out as a sharp intake of air, the kind Eddie would breathe in after hearing yet another joke about his mother. “He doesn’t have a pulse,” Richie whispered. “Why the fuck doesn’t he have a pulse?” He yelled, tear-filled eyes searching between his friends to find an answer. Pieces of the house, of Pennywise’s lair, more so, fell around them as Richie tried to wake Eddie up.

“We h-have to go,” Bill mumbled. “He’s g-gone, Rich,” he managed, reaching out to touch Richie’s shoulder. 

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Richie screamed in response, swatting Ben’s hand away.  _ (Rich, do not fucking touch me, do not fucking touch- agh!)  _ “I’m not leaving,” he stated, “I can’t lose the love of my fucking life and live with it,” he choked out.

The Losers’ attempts to convince Richie had hushed and Mike and Bill silently moved to pull Richie away, not commenting on the comment made prior. “I can’t leave him here, he’s just hurt, we need to get him to a hospital!” He yelled, thrashing against his friends’ grips.  _ (If she finds out I bought all of this stuff for myself I’ll be in the ER for weeks.)  _

_ _ They had brought him out of the house with great effort, Richie still trying to lunge towards the Neibolt house even after it collapsed completely. “Come on, honey, let’s go,” Bev sighed, grabbing his hand and squeezing it quickly. They all walked to the Quarry together, receiving dirty looks from strangers all around them. (Who could blame them? Their clothes were torn, hair matted and some missed shoes.)

Upon arriving at the Quarry, Richie instinctively reached for the bottom of his shirt hem but stopped.  _ (Let’s take our shirts off and kiss!)  _ He jumped after the rest, swimming up and perching himself on a rock after cleaning his hair just a little. They fell silent as they watched him clean the blood -  _ Eddie’s  _ blood - off of his glasses lenses. “Richie…” Ben whispered carefully, and a sob tore from Richie’s throat.

“He didn’t get to know,” Richie whispered shakily. “I never got to fucking tell him. I was planning it, too. After we got the fuck out of Neibolt, I was going to bring him to the-” his breath caught in his throat. “To the kissing bridge. I was going to show him where I carved our initials when we were fourteen fucking years old. It’s always been…” he trailed off, dropping his glasses in the water.  _ Him. It’s always been him,  _ he wanted to say, but what came out was “I lost my glasses,” he breathed out, a shaky laugh passing his lips.  _ (Eddie kicked his glasses off once. On the hammock.) _

And without a word, all of the Losers dropped to search for them. 

He takes that time to wipe his eyes, composing himself before Ben shot up, glasses in hand. “Got them, Rich!” he called out, and the glasses were slipped back onto the owner’s face. 

“Do you want to finish? You don’t have to, though,” Mike offered. Richie shook his head, and they swam in silence until they left. 

Later on in the day, after a hot shower, another good cry and flicking through old photo booth strips, Richie drove himself to the kissing bridge. He pulled over and parked on the side of the road, getting up and walking over to the spot.  _ (What aren’t you telling me, Chee? C’mon, this is the only time you don’t talk and it seems important.)  _ Richie bent down, fishing through his pocket for his knife and tracing his fingers over the letters. 

_ “Get out of here, faggot!” Bowers boomed, and for a split second Richie looked back at the handsome boy he had been spending time with, before rushing out, eyes welling with tears. He felt strange. Something felt wrong to him. It wasn’t the fact that he thought of a guy as attractive, no, he had learned to shut out the discomfort in that. For some reason, though, his mind was revolving around one person and one person only.  _

_ The boy hopped onto his bike, one that was nowhere near as large as Silver and was slightly too small for him, but Richie couldn’t part with it. He drove over to the kissing bridge, thinking of one thing and one thing only to do.  _

_ For as long as they had known each other, Richie and Eddie had been inseparable. The pair had a strange dynamic; strange meaning Richie was a complete idiot and Eddie always made it better. It worked, though. Eddie mellowed Richie out, and Richie brought out Eddie’s more fun side. Eddie had always been the smartest, strongest  _ (You’re braver than you think.)  _ person that Richie had ever known, and for that exact reason Richie had an enormous secret. _

_ He was so incredibly, head over heels, infatuatedly in love with Eddie Kaspbrak. _

_ And for that reason, Richie pulled a pocket knife from his jeans and found an empty spot on the bridge before carving an R, glancing at it before finishing the message. R + E, in a large, poorly drawn heart. He made sure nobody was around with a few sharp glances before tucking the knife back into his pocket and hopping back on his bike.  _

Something in Richie yearned for Eddie to be there with him in that moment. That would’ve been the moment where instead of gripping the vermillion handle of his pocket knife to recarve the letters, Eddie would’ve been sitting there with him. Maybe a kiss would’ve been pressed to his lips. Maybe Eddie would’ve ran off in disgust. But he would’ve known. And maybe, just maybe, the melancholia of the moment Richie was in would’ve been toned down, maybe the moment could’ve been content.

The Trashmouth dragged the tip of his knife over the existent carvings, made after he realized how he truly felt for Eddie. “I wish I would’ve gotten to tell you, Eds,” he started after he finished engraving the wood. “You probably would’ve, like, hit me or some shit, I don’t know, but you would’ve known. You would’ve… you would’ve been here. God, Eddie my love, I wish I could’ve fucking told you. You better be fucking listening, and you better be taking care of Stan, god knows that idiot needs it.” A tear slipped from Richie’s eye and he continued anyways, clenching his fists and digging his nails into his palms. “I know I never got married for a reason, Eds. Every time I got close to it, every single fucking time, I thought of you. I knew it was you. It always has been, man. Since day one. I miss you so fucking much already.” Soft cries became sobs and Richie shook with every cry that erupted from his throat. “I love you. I love you always and forever, Eddie Spaghetti.”

With that, Richie stood. He hopped into the car, phone connecting with Bluetooth automatically and shuffling his music. The one song he wished to bypass, the one song he didn’t need to hear at that moment began to ring through the speakers.

_ Eddie, my love, I love you so.  _ With that, another tear slipped from Richie’s eye underneath his glasses.  _ Eddie, my love, I love you so.  _ He couldn’t bring himself to turn it off, clenching the wheel as he began to drive.  _ Eddie my love, I love you so. How I’ve wanted for you, you’ll never know.  _ He never will know, Richie thought. He never would’ve known how badly Richie wanted him, how much he needed to be held by him, how much he needed Eddie to tell him he loved him.

_ Please, Eddie, don’t make me wait too long. _

_ Oh, Eddie, Eddie, I love you so. _

_ _ “I miss you already, Eds,” Richie whispered shakily, switching the song soon after. He heard the beginning to  _ (I Just) Died In Your Arms Tonight  _ and slammed his hand down on the off button for the car’s stereo system. 

It was always Richie and Eddie. Always. After 27 years, they figured that they had that back. Richie figured that he had the love of his life back. Richie figured that he could’ve made the cynical, paranoid man fall in love with him, just as he had for him. But that was all gone because of that fucking clown.  _ (I’m going to have to kill this fucking clown.) _

It was always Richie and Eddie, but now one party is missing.

And the other has no fucking clue what to do.


End file.
